


Babe, there's something wretched about this

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Astraphobia, Attempt at Humor, Episode Fix-it, First Meetings, If You Squint - Freeform, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, No Spoilers, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Relationship, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens), Title from a Hozier Song, could be read as platonic, mentions of God - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 22:48:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21465790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley experience the first storm together in the garden of Eden, and you'll never guess who is scared of thunder ;)This was my first work in this fandom, and I truly hope you appreciate it.Title is from Hozier's song "From Eden". It's amazing and practically made for these two idiots. <33
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 94





	Babe, there's something wretched about this

It was truly a first impression that the angel would remember. He had found his conversation with the serpent quite lovely, but then again, he hadn’t talked to _anyone_ since his boss’s creation of the Earth.

Yet when silence settled between the odd pair, Aziraphale’s brow was creased in thought. Crawley had made a rather interesting point, questioning God as in _why_ She had planted a tree with forbidden fruit in reach of the humans.

‘Why not put it at the top of a high mountain? Or on the _moon_?’ indeed. Why was there even a forbidden tree to begin with? one could wonder. But Aziraphale wasn’t to speculate. Everything has a purpose, after all, and an angel does not question God’s actions or reasoning. It simply does not happen.

Curious blue eyes train less than discreetly on the demon’s slim, sharp frame. Black wings, black clothing, fiery red hair, and slitted, amber eyes. There is something anxiously familiar about Crawley, yet Aziraphale can’t possibly set his finger on it. It’s more of a _feeling_ than anything, lurking beneath the celestial’s good morale and his will to keep the distance between them, what with the demon being a _demon_ and all.

**Drip **

There it is. Like a wake-up call from the Lord herself, droplets of water start coating Aziraphale’s hair and clothing. As a frown stretches out on Crawley’s features, the angel lifts his left wing almost by instinct to invite the demon in. And so Crawley shuffles closer, ducking underneath white feathers and sending a small, grateful quirk of lips in his companion’s way.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale is holding his breath, baffled that the gesture came to him so naturally. He’s shielding a _demon_, the number one hereditary enemy of all angels, from rain beneath his wing.

Then, a sickening crack blares through the air, a strike of blinding light cutting through clouds and sky to penetrate the Earth.

Ah, and here comes that storm they were so dearly promised.

At the same time that the first blow from lightning has been introduced, Aziraphale goes from having a devil under his wing to having a devil in his arms. Crawley has with a yelp, and at a rather alarming pace, plastered himself onto the angel, who at first is too flustered to react. Wiry arms are tightly wrung around his neck, fists rumpled up in the fabric of his gown. And his wide, serpentine eyes stare helplessly into Aziraphale’s, occluded by fear.

A low rumbling rolls in from far away and a whimper slips past the demon’s lips. He shudders, kips after breath with each sound that isn’t his own, and clings tighter - if physically possible - onto the angel.

Aziraphale connects the dots, _of course!_ Why couldn’t he see it immediately?

_‘Cause you were busy gushing over this fiend hugging you._

His mind tells him, and Aziraphale quickly makes a retort.

_Was not! _

_You haven’t said a word in over two minutes, Aziraphale._

And with that, he has lost a war to himself. _Touché_, he thinks, and wills the heat on his face to vanish before he speaks.

“Crawley, my Dear, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you… afraid of thunder?”

_ **CRACK ** _

As if both sides, Heaven and Hell themselves are watching the two beings and in a blinded rage attempts to kill two birds with one stone, the next strike of lightning hits not far from the pair, bringing down a tree. And a high pitched scream rings out, Crawley nearly toppling them both when he practically mounts the angel, his giant wings flapping erratically in the humid air.

“N- No!! Why would I be afraid? I’m a demon, I’m not afraid of anything! Jusssst wanted to hug you. For no reassson.”

Even his voice is quivering, - a low hissing making its way out of his throat. Nerves? Forked tongue? _Both?_ \- and when he hides a noise in Aziraphale’s shoulder, similar to a sob, the angel can’t bring himself to call Crawley out on the matter. So he attempts a gesture of sympathy and pats Crawley’s shoulder in a friendly manner, playing along with his lie.

**‘Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor’**, the eighth commandment of all ten follows, and yet, Aziraphale finds this one lie… he erases the word ‘endearing’ from his mind and decides on ‘not as hurtful’. You never know when the Divinity might be listening in, even on your own thoughts.

“Right. Of course. Well, while that’s nice, Dear boy, I do think-”

“I’m not nice!” hisses the demon and cries out yet again when thunder rumbles within the atmosphere.

Aziraphale is beginning to warm beneath Crawley’s insistent touch, and his wings gently curl around Crawley’s body, almost wrapping him up in a cocoon. But before he can get too comfortable, he catches himself. Angel. Demon. Hereditary enemies. _**Borders**_.

He tries to pull away. Crawley doesn’t quite let him.

“Shall we find shelter, my Dea- Crawley? If we find some roof over our heads, we could dry off and wait for the storm to calm.”

He suggests, and not ‘since you’re _clearly_ afraid of thunder and/or storms, and my personal preference is to avoid being burned in eternal hellfire from hugging a demon’. The devil thankfully agrees to the other’s proposal, still holding a steel grip on the celestial’s arm when Aziraphale leads him out of the open to find shelter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you sm for reading! <3


End file.
